


Comb

by Anonymous



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hair Braiding, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Braids Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia's Hair, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Takes Care of Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The words stick in his throat. Jaskier won’t appreciate them; he’ll try and swat them away like he usually does, rolling his eyes and admonishing him for saying such things. But it’s true. Geralt does deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of the things Jaskier does for him.He’s a Witcher.--Geralt struggles with understanding that he's allowed to have nice things, and Jaskier wants to take care of him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 170
Collections: MaMooRoo BIKM Bingo





	Comb

The words stick in his throat. Jaskier won’t appreciate them; he’ll try and swat them away like he usually does, rolling his eyes and admonishing him for saying such things. But it’s true. Geralt does deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of the things Jaskier does for him.

He’s a Witcher. A Witcher’s path is lonely and kept to the roads, wandering around the Continent again and again until their bones and muscles ache, and they slow, and the hunter becomes the hunted. He resigned himself to that life. It was all he was ever used to. All he was ever told would be waiting for him the moment he stepped out of the keep for the first time.

Jaskier’s hands and lips and skin gentled those beliefs away, though some linger in the back of his mind. They’ll wait for the quieter and calmer hours to come out, whispering against the shell of his ear and prickling his skin with gooseflesh. Even engulfed in the warm bathwater, scented with desert roses and vanilla, and with his skin freshly scrubbed clean, Geralt sighs as he looks to the rafters of the room they’ve rented for the night.

He doesn’t know why Jaskier insists on doing this. Bathing him as if he were a child. He can do it just fine by himself. But Jaskier has established a routine; Geralt will come back from a hunt, armour and skin caked in dirt and blood and sometimes swamp-water, so the bard will nimbly strip Geralt of his armour and clothes and nudge him to an awaiting bath. He’s learned what scents Geralt likes – or, at least what scents don’t wrinkle his nose and bother his sense. He knows to scrub Geralt clean first if his wounds are small; and if there are cuts that need to be knitted back together or bruises in need of a salve or poultice, he’ll tend to those later.

And Geralt is loath to interrupt the routine. His eyelids grow heavy, threatening to flutter closed as Jaskier combs his fingers through his hair; a dimly scented oil coating his fingers, pressing it into his scalp and through the strands of his hair. He doesn’t know _why_ Jaskier does this – not the ritual he has established or anything, but why bother? They’ll be back on the road against tomorrow and his skin and hair will only catch dust and grit again. And gods forbid if there’s another contract that will lead him into some swamp or marsh.

But Jaskier always seems happy to comb his fingers through Geralt’s hair and scrub his skin clean, making sure to keep his touch light and drifting. And Geralt wouldn’t mind if some of it lingered. His skin almost scalds underneath Jaskier’s fingers and hands. Sometimes Geralt’s ears will twitch at the sound of the bard humming lowly under his breath; his next composition, or songs he’s never heard before, and Jaskier has never performed.

Songs that seem to be just for him, and Geralt’s chest almost bursts.

Jaskier’s fingers are light and nimble. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low enough to just wisp through the scent-heavy air. “Do you mind if I braid your hair back?” he lulls, already making a point of separating Geralt’s hair into segments. Not that he had much of a say in any of this to begin with. He tilts his head back just enough to look at Jaskier, upside down, but he sees the bard and a small smile threatens to curl the corners of his lips. Jaskier’s eyes are soft and looking down at him with the same reverence he does when they’re huddled together in bed, and Geralt drifts off to sleep with the bard gentling his arms and neck and cheek.

Geralt hums. He can’t muster words, or even the energy to try and voice them, so he lets his head drop back for Jaskier to work, and the bard sets about doing whatever it is he needs to do. He’s gentle with his hands, barely tugging at Geralt’s hair, and softly braiding it loosely together. Just enough to keep it out of his face and for it to have soft waves in the morning. And even though Geralt ties his hair back, Jaskier will still beam at whatever hair does hang down, and the soft waves through it.

Whatever makes his bard happy; though he’ll argue to the ends of the known world that it doesn’t do the same to him. That any time his bard sets his hands on to him in reverence and care, that his chest doesn’t ache and swell, and his heart threatens to beat out of his ribcage or clamber up his throat. Whispers might still haunt him, telling him that he doesn’t deserve any of this, that he’s putting Jaskier in danger by simply loving him, but they start to fade when he focuses on Jaskier humming underneath his breath, listening to every lilted and lulled note.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & Comments gladly appreciated!


End file.
